


Short Fuse

by bacondoughnut



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Bickering, Brotherly Bonding, Color Blindness, Explosives, Face Punching, Family Dynamics, Humor, One Shot, Peril, mild crack, you'd be surprised how often those go together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacondoughnut/pseuds/bacondoughnut
Summary: "Is now a good time to remind you guys that Red Hood has tritanomaly?""What?" Dick says, pausing."It means color-blind, get a dictionary dickhea--" Jason says, sarcasm fading to dawning realization as he looks back up at them. "Oh, shit."Or; There's a bomb that needs defusing, but the brothers are too busy being Brothers™.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 268





	Short Fuse

It begins like all good stories. With a building and a bomb.

Tim can't say he's surprised they find Jason here. He also can't say he's particularly happy about the development, but since it looks like they're on the same side (for the moment at least) he won't worry too much about it either.

"Well this isn't the family reunion I've been hoping for," Dick quips lightheartedly, poking an overturned crate with his toe. "But I'll take it."

Jason seems more exasperated to see them than anything else. Scoffing and looking up from whatever he's fiddling with across the warehouse to say, "What the hell is the Bat Brigade doing here?"

Short answer? Not a whole hell of a lot.

Long answer? They're technically tracking a new drug operation in the city. Some asshole's been dealing heroin laced with fentanyl and some other as of yet unidentified component. It's got this tendency to leave people seizing on the floor and filling their lungs with blood and foam instead of air, but hey, supposedly you also get the high of your life first. Naturally they've been working their asses off to the get the stuff off the streets.

Shortest answer? Sassing eat other. Apparently.

"We're happy to see you too, Hood."

"Speak for yourself," Tim adds distractedly as he crouches down to inspect a scuffmark on the ground.

The scrapes belong to two different sets of boots. They decorate the floor alongside a few drops of blood and what smells like lacquer thinner. The blood, and at least some of those boot prints, no doubt belong to the guy slumped against the wall just by the exit door.

"Ha ha," Jason says flatly, and though his eyes are masked the essence of the eyeroll is still there. Then, "It's time for you two to go."

Tim bristles. "We're not going anywhere."

Just because Jason got here before them doesn't mean he's better equipped to deal with this than they are. The three them can get this stuff off their streets a lot quicker working together, Jason's got to be an idiot or an ass to think otherwise.

"Red Robin's right," Dick says, folding his arms. "We should work together on this one."

Jason doesn't acknowledge them beyond an irritable huff. He doesn't even look back up from...whatever's inside of that crate that seems to be holding all of his attention at the moment.

Tim lets his curiosity tug him a step or two closer, although he's a little wary. "What are you doing?"

"Defusing a bomb," Jason says simply. He clears his throat and adds, "Or I would be, if you dolts would stop distracting me. Now was it the red or the yellow...?"

"Bomb?" Dick echoes, suddenly more attentive.

Tim only finds himself pacing nearer at the answer. He leans forward to get a glance inside the crate and yep. That right there is a bomb.

Dick joins in the huddle around the crate just as Jason says, "Yep. You guys are getting sloppy, they must've known you were coming."

"Maybe they knew _you_ were," Tim can't help but counter.

Between them, Jason's certainly got the smallest appreciation for subtlety. Well, unless they're factoring Dick's fashion sense into the equation. But regardless it's more likely Jason gave away his hand than they did.

Jason concedes that point with a one-shouldered shrug. Then, tentatively inspecting the yellow wire, "Hey, why don't bad guys ever use one color for all their wiring?"

Because it's stupid, that's why.

"When you're carrying dangerous explosives around," Tim says. "Don't you wanna be able to deactivate them quick in a pinch."

Jason hums, like he's already considered that and didn't find it terribly compelling.

"If it were _me_ rigging explosives, I would just memorize which wire was which," Jason says, far too casual as he releases the yellow one to inspect the green. "That way I wouldn't have some asshole coming along with a pair of scissors and foiling my entire evil plot."

"If?" Dick challenges.

"Shut up."

Tim redirects the conversation back on topic with a simple, "Bomb on our hands."

"My hands," Jason corrects irascibly. "I don't need your help."

The timer doesn't appear to be counting down yet, so they have that working in their favor. Although whether it's the unconscious body a few feet away who's supposed to be activating the bomb or somebody else isn't clear. If it's someone else, he's got no clue what they're waiting for.

When the clock does start counting down they'll have all of about fifteen minutes to either successfully defuse the thing or haul ass out of this place.

Another thing working in their favor? All three of them have studied how to handle explosives like this one in their Robin training. Between them, this shouldn't be all that terrific of a challenge. Or it wouldn't be, at least, if they were a well put together team. Unfortunately, they're brothers.

They waste a good five minutes arguing over which wire they're supposed to cut. Jason insists it's the green one. Dick and Tim at least seem to agree it's the blue. They're still debating when the timer leaps into motion. Fifteen minutes and counting.

"Well fuck," Tim says.

"My sentiments exactly," Jason says, withdrawing a pocket knife from his jacket pocket. He flips it open and declares, "Fuck it."

Nothing good ever seems to happen after Jason says that.

He sets to snapping the blade through the green wire. Dick's hands reach out to stop him, freezing just short of snatching Jason's wrists away and saying, "Hood, don't! It's the blue one!"

"This _is_ the blue one," Jason snaps as the edge of the blade cuts through the outer casing of the wire.

"Not it isn't!"

Which is when Tim remembers something from Jason's file and grimaces. Clearing his throat, he says, "Is now a good time to remind you guys that Red Hood has tritanomaly?"

"What?" Dick says, pausing.

"It means color-blind, get a dictionary dickhea--" Jason says, sarcasm fading to dawning realization as he looks back up at them. "Oh, shit."

The countdown on the timer does stutter for a second with the freshly snapped wire. Then it leaps two minutes ahead before marching steadily on.

"Are you serious?" Dick snaps, rounding on Jason as if ready to strangle him. "You're fucking color-blind? And you _forgot_ that?"

Tim sighs. "We are so screwed."

"My bad, guys," Jason says, whistling lowly as the counter continues to drop. He shrugs and moves the knife below the blue wire, looking to Tim for confirmation before cutting it this time. "Here goes nothin'."

Cutting the blue wire is supposed to work, Tim's damn near certain on that one. So when Jason cuts through that wire and the timer just keeps going, he'll admit he's not totally sure what to do.

Maybe the wiring isn't connected to anything at all and it's just a distraction. Maybe they've got the wrong color after all.

"What now?"

"Oh, now you need our help?" Tim says, quirking an eyebrow.

"Fine," Jason says, crossing his arms. "Blow up then."

They waste a full three minutes bickering over what the hell they're supposed to do next. Tim tries twice to get Dick and Jason to evacuate the area while he stays behind to work on it. He's been doing extra studying about explosives in case a situation like this one crops up. Naturally, Dick and Jason both totally shut him down.

What's more, the second it becomes apparent that the detonator's broken, Jason decks Tim in the face.

There's enough force packed behind it to knock Tim, unsuspecting as he is, to the ground. And when he hits the deck Jason plants a boot on his chest to keep him there.

While Tim's busy reeling, Dick's saying, "What the hell was that?"

"Someone's gotta stay behind."

Trying to pry Jason's foot off of him proves fruitless. With an irritable huff, Tim swats at his shin and says, "I've done the most research on handling explosives. Let me up."

"How'd I know you were gonna say that?" Jason says. "It's not gonna be you, asshole."

"It's not gonna be _you_ ," Dick says pointedly.

"Why the hell not?"

"What color is my domino?" Tim offers from the ground.

"It's dark blue."

"It's green."

"Shut the fuck up," Jason counters eloquently. "The wires aren't gonna fix it anyway, it doesn't matter what color they are."

Dick seems hesitant to ask, but he does, dubiously, "You want this one?"

Maybe he's shocked because no one in their right mind volunteers to stay behind with the busted detonator, maybe it's got more to do with Jason's history with bombs and warehouses. Either way, it's a little tough to appreciate the underlying protectiveness of Jason volunteering when there's a tactical boot crushing Tim's sternum.

"I got the most experience rigging explosives, how hard can un-rigging them be?" Jason says offhandedly. Then, "Get him out and tell the guys next door to evacuate."

Shit, Jason's right. The warehouse next door was bustling with night workers. And, should they be unsuccessful in preventing tonight's apparently imminent explosion, everyone next door is in danger.

"You can do that," Dick says. "I'll stay."

"Hahaha, no," Jason says with a firm shake of his head. "I got this. You two'll be faster than me anyway."

"You really expect us to just leave you behind?"

"Look, I can drag both your asses outta here, but that kind of takes away some of my crucial preventing an explosion time," Jason says, pointedly nodding towards the crate on the table. Not that Tim can see it from the ground, but he gets the idea. They don't exactly have time for arguing about this. Jason emphasizes, _"Now."_

That's not going to stop Tim from arguing about this, even as Jason's boot lifts off his chest. He lets Dick haul him back up to his feet willingly but tries to pry himself loose to step back to the crate anyway. Says, "I can do it."

It makes the most sense for him to stay. He's got the practical knowledge to deal with this.

"Not your call, half-pint."

And Tim opens his mouth to press the issue further, but Dick's already dragging him towards the door with a steady hand on his right bicep. Tossing over his shoulder, "We'll meet you at Pier 15. Got it?"

"Whatever you say, big bird," Jason throws out, already turning his attention back to the interior of the crate before him.

* * *

Dick drags Tim as far as the loading docks outside before it must be apparent Tim's not going to argue anymore and he lets go. They split up to cover the most ground in the surrounding area, with Dick heading inside to get all the workers out and Tim tackling the grounds outside for anyone on a smoking break or something.

The internal counter Tim's been keeping in his head has only made it down to five minutes by the time they've cleared the area. They're nothing if not efficient.

Tim comes inside to help Dick with a secondary sweep of the warehouse, just in case they missed anybody.

* * *

The count is down to thirty seconds and Tim and Dick are making their way over to Pier 15 for the rendezvous with Jason.

Dick checks his watch impatiently while Tim climbs up onto the railing at the edge of the pier to get a better view of the warehouses lining the docks.

At least none of them are currently on fire. That's always a good sign.

Tim drops back to the ground with a sigh, bringing one hand up to rub the sore spot on his jaw. That's definitely going to form one hell of a bruise for sure.

"I can't believe Jason cold-clocked you," Dick says, stifling a chuckle. Then, "Well no, actually I can. It's Jason. But still."

"Glad you think it's funny," Tim grouses, dropping onto a nearby bench with a huff.

The timer's been up for awhile already without an explosion, which seems to imply Jason was successful. It also doesn't take this long to get here from the warehouse though, and yet there's no sign of him. Maybe he's standing them up. They haven't done much working together since he came back to Gotham, even after he decided to stop being so deranged. Maybe he thinks he can just work the case without them.

All things considered they really haven't been here that long. Tim's still just about to ask how long they're supposed to wait when he picks up the engine sound approaching.

He turns to spot a motorcycle halting to a stop at the end of the pier. Jason hops off the bike with practiced ease before crossing towards them.

"You took your time," Dick says, not unlike a mother reproving a teen that's been out past curfew.

"Aww, what's the matter? Were you worried about me?"

And just like that the relief in Dick's expression switches to annoyance. Tim waves a hand and volunteers, "I wasn't."

Jason flips him off. Pulls something from his pocket and tosses it in Tim's direction with a simple call of, "Here, catch."

Tim catches it on instinct before looking down to find the detonator, sans explosive charges, in his hands. He quirks an eyebrow and looks back up to say, "How'd you fix it?"

"Well we knew the wires were a decoy, and they had to have a way to switch it off somehow. What were you saying about needing to deactivate it in a pinch?" Jason says, shrugging and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. He offers a wink and adds, "Don't need to see colors to find an off-switch."

"A fucking off-switch?" Tim echoes in disbelief.

"Honestly? It's not the weirdest thing we've come across," Dick says, taking the detonator from Tim's hands to inspect it. He adds, "I'm just glad nobody got hurt."

"Tell that to my jaw."

"You're welcome by the way," Jason says with a grin.

"I'm not thanking you for punching me in the face."

"Hey, I saved your ass back there."

Tim scoffs. "By cold-clocking me?"

"Would you have listened to me otherwise?" Jason challenges.

Honestly? Yeah probably not.

But just because Jason happens to have been successful preventing the explosion doesn't make him right. Tim was the right choice for that job. All Jason did was get lucky. It's not like he's put in half the hours of independent research as Tim has.

His thoughts must show somewhere on his face, because Jason chuckles and says, "My point exactly."

Tim steps forward, an argument on his tongue but it's cut off as Dick interrupts.

"Can I just say," Dick says, slinging an arm over each of their shoulders and pulling them into an unwilling hug. "How glad I am neither of you got blown up tonight?"

Jason and Tim swap a couple of equally over-it looks before they both roll their eyes.

Dick adds, "To be clear, I'm not letting go until someone hugs me back."

"I would've preferred blowing up," Jason grumbles, but he brings an arm up to return the embrace anyway.

Tim, reluctantly or not, follows suit.

He tolerates the embrace for a moment or so before he can no longer bite his tongue. He just has to ask, "How the hell do you forget you're color-blind?"

"Don't make me punch you again, baby bird."

**Author's Note:**

> this started off as a serious concept in my head, until i remembered the headcanon about jason being color-blind and then it just turned into this lol


End file.
